Tuesday, 6 March 2012

it's springtime, but there is still ice on the ground.




close to snapping.  (or: this needs a better title.)

petals flutter furiously
aggressively proclaiming their wordless joy
and I just wish it would rain so
no one would hear me shout.

hush, hush,
the sunlight plants wishes on
your hand and for some reason
the only thing I can’t forgive
is that you mowed over our
daffodils last spring.

what, why, do you think you can
control it?  there’s no
on-and-off switch, darling,
check the papers, they’d have
found it
and the cat hasn’t changed his
habits yet,
so why should I?

mockingbirds scratch the ground and
reopen scars which winter had smoothed
away.  spring is new
and honest but the one promise
I’ve kept so far isn’t green, because
I believe in ulterior motives.

I don’t know why you tolerate my
cruel idiosyncrasies, but while you’re at it,
allow me one more second
to hold the tundra to my chest;
the thaw was not unwholly
welcome but I still feel guilt
for enjoying the return of the golden hour.

winter can’t fight the sun
forever – her ice crystals betray her
and did you know that when
they’re frozen, rubber bands
don’t stretch.

they break.

Shayli

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